


More Than Words

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [24]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Related, Muteness, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5903917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for No Dialogue prompt: <i>author's choice, author's choice, no words were necessary</i></p><p>In which John and Rodney are being held captive offworld, and have to communicate without words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words

The cell was white – ceiling, floor, walls – with nothing to break up the empty expanses of it. No windows, no door, no ornamentation of any kind. Rodney had made a thorough study of it after he woke up on the floor, head pounding; it hadn’t taken long.

Less easy to examine was the thick metal collar around Rodney’s throat. It was tight – he could feel it every time he swallowed – but beyond that there was nothing on the smooth surface to tell him how it worked or how to get it off. He understood all too well what it did, after several minutes of fruitless shouting.

The collar had taken his voice away.

Rodney was sure Sheppard would get a laugh out of that, if only he knew where Sheppard was. Or the rest of his team for that matter. The last thing he remembered was running for the Gate, unhappy natives giving chase. He must’ve been stunned, and since he’d been just a little behind the others maybe they got away. He hoped they did, because that meant his rescue was a foregone conclusion.

He took another pass around the cell, looking for the seam of the door he _knew_ had to be there. Unless he’d been beamed inside, which didn’t seem likely given the level of tech he’d seen during his brief interaction with the Jaldun. Then again, he wouldn’t have guessed they had anything like the collar either.

Rodney growled in frustration; he could feel the vibration in his throat but no sound came out. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The cell was a comfortable temperature, which was good because his captors had changed him out of his black BDUs and into plain linen pants and a tunic in a light shade of blue. Rodney bemoaned the loss of this tac vest and its pockets full of tools.

 _You can’t keep me here!_ he wanted to shout. He hated not being able to talk, to work things out verbally. Or even just complain, which often helped to soothe his nerves. He didn’t like the unrelenting silence, which settled over him with a palpable weight. He attempted to combat it by tapping his fingers on the floor, unconsciously picking out Holst’s “Mars”, which he’d last played on the piano a lifetime ago.

Sheppard would come, he always came, but Rodney didn’t want to be sitting around like some kind of damsel in distress. He needed to figure out a way to help himself. If only he had some information, some small clue that would spark his genius into high gear.

Rodney didn’t notice the gas at first; he was too absorbed in visualizing what was sure to be a humiliating rescue. By the time he _did_ notice it was too late. The gas was a fog surrounding Rodney, and he wasn’t able to get away from it. He stumbled trying to get to his feet and fell, landing painfully on his hip.

Panic raced through him, his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn’t move. His arms were numb, legs too, and he was sure it was only a matter of time until his lungs seized up as well and he stopped breathing.

 _Help!_ he screamed soundlessly, right before he passed out.

*o*o*o*

Rodney woke with a dull throbbing behind his eyes. The gas hadn’t killed him after all, which was some small comfort since without looking he was fairly certain he was in the same damn room. The collar was still in place, as were the clothes, but he couldn’t help wondering how he might’ve been violated while he was out cold.

He pressed his hand to his head and eased up into a sitting position. Bile rose in his throat and Rodney swallowed it down ruthlessly; he wasn’t about to sit in a closed room with a puddle of his stomach contents. He cracked his eyes open, and his breath caught in his throat.

_Sheppard!_

Rodney’s best friend was sprawled on his back in the middle of the cell, limp as a ragdoll. He was dressed in the same linen clothes and metal collar. Rodney scrambled over on his hands and knees, frantically checking for a pulse.

 _Sheppard?_ Rodney didn’t know why he kept trying to talk. He found a pulse, strong and steady beneath the black wristband that the Jaldun had seen fit to leave in place. Rodney sat back on his haunches, so relieved he was shaking. He didn’t care that his chance of rescue had just diminished significantly.

It took Sheppard a little while to come around, and after some unpleasant dry-heaving he looked at Rodney with wide eyes. He tried talking, and scowled when he realized he was unable to. Rodney pointed to the collar and then tapped Sheppard on the head. His gene was stronger than Rodney’s, maybe he could think the collars off if they had even a shred of Ancient tech in them.

Sheppard didn’t immediately get what Rodney wanted him to do – the man was lousy at charades – but he finally caught on and nodded. He squinched his eyes closed, clearly trying very hard to concentrate, but no amount of super-gene brainpower got the job done.

Rodney slumped back against the wall. He didn’t know what the point of this silent incarceration was, but he couldn’t put up with it much longer. He started picking out piano notes again, and then Sheppard covered one of Rodney’s hands with his own. Rodney looked up, startled, and found Sheppard staring intently at him.

Very slowly and deliberately he mouthed, _we’ll be okay._

Just as slowly and deliberately Rodney replied, _you are an idiot._

Sheppard huffed out a silent laugh and moved to sit beside Rodney. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, even though there was more than enough space in the cell for them to spread out. Rodney appreciated the gesture for what it was: an attempt at reassurance. 

It was working.

The silence was a lot easier to bear now that Rodney wasn’t alone. He listened to Sheppard breathe, and tried to imagine all the jokes Sheppard would be making if he was able.

Rodney was pretty sure that he’d never been so comfortable with another person that sitting in silence wasn’t a punishment. When Sheppard slotted his fingers between Rodney’s and just sat there holding his hand, Rodney’s chest constricted.

He clutched John’s hand in his and closed his eyes. Turns out they really didn’t need words between them.


End file.
